Dragon Ball Z Collection of Tales
by pansymoomalfoy32
Summary: A place for different DBZ story tidbits I dream up. Bulma/Vegeta focus, but probably will include all sorts of characters and scenes.
1. Night Watch

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Note: Each chapter will probably be a different scenario snippet. Personally, I hate to read those kinds of stories, but I need a place for extra plot bunnies, so :) Anyway, don't expect much in the way of story continuity. Some chaps will be fill-in-the canon blanks, some will be totally AU, some will be character exploration, others world building. I have so many ideas for DBZ, I need to narrow them down! If anyone reads a scene they'd be interested in reading an expansion of, please let me know.

Chapter 1: Night Watch

Scene: A quiet night on a spaceship with the Z gang, sometime after escaping the destruction of Earth. Slight B/V

* * *

The quiet dark hours of the middle of the night found everyone bunked down camp-style in the middle of the rec area. Oolong leaned back against the comm board, surveying the ragtag group from Earth.

They looked like refugees, and they were. They were the intergalactic homeless, wandering the universe in a spaceship meant for research and travel, not for accommodating dozens of people and families indefinitely.

Next to Oolong, Chichi and Yajirobi were sorting through some kind of schematically detailed paperwork that exhausted Oolong just looking at it. Nightwatch was the worst. Its duties included scanning their flight path for potential causes of detour and listening to the main broadband comm channel for local updates. A necessary, but boring job.

Oolong harrumphed at the sight of Gohan snoring comfortably next to Turtle, curled under a thin blanket on the ground. The teen's mouth hung open, slack and unabashed, as he snoozed away. Lucky snot.

Feeling the back of his neck prickle, Oolong glanced around and stiffened when he caught Piccolo's eye. The Namekian's cross-legged pose against the base of the wall hadn't budged in hours, except for the occasional antenna twitch as their group settled in for the night. Now, one of his eyes cracked open slightly to glare at Oolong.

For an ex-sworn enemy, Piccolo could be weirdly protective of Gohan. Also, since Piccolo didn't sleep anyway, couldn't he just take over Oolong's spot? Then maybe he could get some shut-eye…

"Quit feeling sorry for yourself," Chichi scolded without looking up from the navigational printouts.

Oolong grumbled under his breath, but kept his thoughts to himself as Piccolo stood up and crossed over to the group by the comm link and radio.

Yajirobe yawned widely and adjusted his headphones, presumably to better hear the white static nothingness that was the radiowaves.

Chichi shot a sullen look at Piccolo as he approached, but scooted over and made room for him at the counter. Piccolo ignored the last stool and stood with his arms crossed as he frowned around the room.

Oolong followed his gaze. To Gohan first, of course, and onto Trunks and Goten who were piled together like a small litter of half-Saiyan puppies, then to Yamcha and Puar sleeping in rumpled bags in the corner. Roshi, Launch, Chiatzou and Tien were close by; Krillin and that scary Android 18 shared a floor mattress with their daughter, Marron. There were only two mattresses on the whole damn ship. When 18 had claimed the sleep comfort for herself and her family, no one dared fight her for it.

The second mattress held Bulma. The heiress's body sprawled out diagonally, taking up the whole damn thing in a twist of blankets.

That only left…

With a hiss, the rec doors slid open, revealing Goku and Vegeta.

Oolong checked their mostly useless Earth clock. Three in the morning and these idiots were just coming in from training-but clean from the showers it seemed. No small thing to be thankful for when one finds themself trapped in a room with multiple sweaty Saiyans for hours at a time.

Chichi turned her nose up and away from her husband and hunched over the counter more fully.

Sharing such a small space meant pretty much no privacy and fewer secrets. A not so shocking revelation? Chichi was not a fan of super late night trainings.

Oolong rolled his eyes when Goku waved over at the watch group enthusiastically, like he didn't recognize Chichi's cold shoulder at all. Maybe he didn't. With exaggerated movements like some goofy burglar in a cartoon, Goku tiptoed his way around the sleepers on the floor and plopped on the last stool with a wide grin. Piccolo grunted a greeting.

"Hi, you guys!" Goku's unsubtle stage whisper held way too much cheer for the dead of night. "How's it going?"

"Fantastic," Yajirobe drawled. "Wanna take over?"

Goku held up his hands. "Oh no! I'm beat, I think I'm gonna go to bed." He turned guileless eyes on Chichi. "Unless you want me to spot you, Chichi. You look awfully tired."

The tight line of Chichi's mouth relaxed, though her brows still pulled down seriously. She flicked a look at Goku. "No Goku, my shift's nearly over. You go ahead and sleep." She faced him fully. "But for the love of all that is holy, don't wake the kids."

"Yeah, seriously," Oolong spoke up. "You know how precious this quiet is?"

Goku smiled, eyes crinkling in the corners. "It's kind of neat, isn't it? Having all of our friends and family here together."

The group at the comm counter looked out over the sleeping crowd again.

Chichi snorted. "Like sardines in a tin."

Goku's stomach gurgled in reply.

"Oh, Goku."

"I know, I know. Gotta wait for breakfast. It's just, I worked up such an appetite…"

Chichi's frown set in again even as she pushed over the snack bag the watch group had been sharing. Yajirobe whined and grabbed for it, but moved too slowly. Goku emptied the rest of the bag in his mouth in practically one go. "Mmm. Thanks for that!"

"We were rationing that out until morning," Oolong complained.

"Sorry. Boy, I'm starving."

"Well, sleep it off for now." Chichi straightened her work area. "You wouldn't be so hungry if you didn't insist on training with Vegeta at all hours of the day and night."

"Aww, we just lost track of time, that's all." Goku said, turning his head towards the other Saiyan.

Vegeta was staring down with a concentrated frown at Bulma's form, starfishing over the whole sleep area.

Goku, Chichi, Piccolo, Yajirobe, and Oolong watched with varying degrees of surprise and amusement as Vegeta leaned down and grabbed Bulma's ankle and yanked her over to one side of the mattress. He grabbed her wrist and flopped it over to her side as well. Then he bedded down with practical movements, pulling the entire blanket off of his wife and over himself in the process.

Bulma squirmed and woke up slightly. Instead of getting loud and mad as expected, her expression warmed and she scooted back under the blanket, curling herself around Vegeta and hugging him like he was some kind of snuggly person, as opposed to an actual psychotic mass-murdering alien.

The pair settled in sleep. Yajirobe broke the silence, muttering: "What the hell did I just see?"

Chichi shook her head. "Marriage."

"Wah? They sleep in the same place though?" Yajirobe scratched his ear.

"Apparently."

"Huh. It's not like it's something I spend time thinking about-" the samurai continued over Piccolo's put upon sigh. "But I guess I just assumed it wasn't like that. Just thinking about sleeping next to _either_ of them...I mean, who'd want to?"

Even Piccolo and Chichi crack grins at that.


	2. Blood Pt 1

Disclaimer continues.

Chapter Two: Blood Pt 1

Scene: Life's a battle. But who is the enemy? Trunks delivers the final blow against the leader of an evil intergalactic dictatorship. AU post-Frieza saga. No androids, no time travel.

* * *

In the end, it's easy. Oh, not the fight. The fight itself was hell. The battle that raged over half the barren planet left Yamcha nearly crippled, Gohan, Piccolo, and Krillin severely injured, and Tien dead-a pile of twisted bones at the bottom of a ravine.

Trunks himself is beaten to shit, but he's held his own and that's what made him the best candidate to finish the job.

Killing, that's the easy part. He sees it again like an instant replay. The good old one-two. A left-led punch that widens an already crumbling hole in the front of his opponent's armor and his right hand, held in a rigid fluid blade-jabbing in and up with a squelch.

Through muscle, sinew, and organs. Trunks' brain clicks through the necessary anatomical data on his enemy even as his blood thunders through him like a heady drug. Kill, maim, destroy! Victory! Victory!

When Trunks tears his hand back, he has to extract it from he's buried himself elbow-deep in viscera.

This move is the killing blow and everyone knows it. Trunks backs up and soaks in the satisfaction of seeing his enemy kneeling in defeat.

How long he and his have waited for this moment!

Before him, his enemy lifts his proud head to meet Trunks' own wild gaze. Prince Vegeta aims a crimson-toothed grin at him and Trunks feels a prickling foreboding along his scalp.

A dying man's smile never heralded good tidings.

* * *

Namek was the first planet Bulma had ever seen destroyed. She felt its tremors, braced her shaking legs against the roiling land, cringed away from lightning filled skies. For all her experience with the weird and crazy, for all the great battles she'd been party to, nothing could've prepared her for the primal knowledge that she was in the epicenter of a planet's death throes. Bulma was no fool. She knew the measurable consequences of a planet imploding and took action.

Bulma and Gohan barely escaped Namek's destruction. They were close enough for her spaceship to rock from the shockwaves. Gohan, with his much advanced eyesight, swore he could see the bright star of his Super Saiyan father amid the flying debris, if only for a moment.

Gohan very well might have. After the wish to Shenron brought everyone back-including, somehow, a handful of homeless Namekians and a seriously confused prince-Goku returned to Earth unharmed from Namek's explosion with weird clothes and a new technique. And, of course, that belly-deep laughter. The man had nine lives.

All was right with the world. Bulma took in the Namekians and the Prince of All Saiyans. She wasn't picky about her houseguests. For a self-centered woman, she was remarkably generous and open-minded. The idea was to wait for the dragonballs to recharge so they could wish Namek back.

Goku struck a deal with Vegeta. Two years to train, then they'd have their rematch. In the event Goku would win, Vegeta had to remain on Earth as their ally. Vegeta really must have been at loose ends because he agreed to it. No one ever heard what Vegeta's prize for winning would have been.

Everyone thought Goku was crazy to even let Vegeta stay on Earth. But Goku and Vegeta had had words before Vegeta died by Frieza's hand and things were different between the two men. Goku was suddenly all about his Saiyan heritage. He was forever popping by, trying to lure anecdotes and stories out of an increasingly irritable Saiyan prince. But Vegeta never snapped the way the others were certain he would. He kept his peace and trained like a madman.

Vegeta lived at Capsule Corps. He trained in the best facilities Bulma had to offer. He assisted in minor conflicts that arose in those years.

He changed her life forever.

Bulma didn't tell Vegeta about her pregnancy until after Baba's ominous warning about new threats from the deep reaches of space. The dejavu was as crippling as it was humorous. Not so long ago, the old mystic had forewarned nearly the same thing about the very man standing in the room with them now, where together they considered how to face the coming battle.

Vegeta was the one to parse meaning from Baba's cryptic babble. He sneered to Goku, "You think you did everyone a favor by killing Frieza. All you did was leave a power vacuum. Sounds like someone's finally filled it."

Truthfully, until recently, Earth had been sheltered from the politics of intergalactic expansion. But no longer. According to Baba, Earth would soon be targeted, not by three warriors in space pods, but by a veritable army seeking to gobble up as much power and property as it could fit in its slathering maw.

Bulma confronted Vegeta that same night, once everyone had dispersed from Baba's meeting. Maybe, if she had told him on a different night, sometime long before the news broke of an approaching army or maybe sometime after the thought had a chance to sink in, maybe…

Vegeta was a hard man to read, always. Bulma couldn't really say she was afraid of him, not after everything. But she fretted. A child changed things. A son. She was barely showing, but Vegeta zeroed in on her stomach with eyes that saw her clearly for the first time in weeks.

Bulma searched his face for fear, anger, even-insanely-excitement. All she saw was the look of man who'd been told he was dying with no options for survival.

No real surprise then, when a few days later, he took off to space with the only working spaceship Bulma and her father had on hand.

Six months later, Bulma clutched her baby boy in her arms and watched another planet explode from the window of a brand-spanking new Capsule Corps spaceship. Earth, blue and green and on fire, seemed to ripple and blur before breaking apart in a thousand pieces.

Piccolo was barely able to subdue Gohan who nearly popped their spaceship open at the seams when he ascended to Super Saiyan with an agonized scream. Chichi's soft crying was the only sound in the shocked aftermath.

Bulma stood there, just as numbly as the rest of her friends. Earth, gone. And Goku with it. Not to mention Kami. No more dragonballs, here or on Namek-a planet whose resurrection really should've been higher on their wish priorities. No more cheating death. No more second chances.

* * *

When Trunks was three he learned to fly. His best friend Gohan taught him on a pit stop to a peaceful outpost on Tammerran. The ground was spongy which was awesome for when he fell, as he often did. Gohan was way older and bigger than Trunks, but they were like brothers. No one could play or train with Trunks the way Gohan did. Sometimes, Mr. Piccolo lectured him and sometimes Uncle Krillin showed him some moves, but Gohan was the best. Easily.

Trunks hit the spongy black surface again with a bounce that sent him straight into Uncle Yamcha's legs. The scarred man looked down at Trunks with a grimace. Trunks thought he might have hurt him by accident. It was easy to do and Gohan was forever saying, " _Careful, Trunks. Careful. You don't know how strong you are yet."_

Gohan landed next to them with a soft sound like a _foomp._ "Sorry Yamcha. The ground is weird here."

"My bad, kid. I'll get out of your way." Uncle Yamcha was gone before Gohan could say anything back.

Uncle Yamcha never played with Trunks.

Trunks looked up to his friend. Gohan's face was pinched like he'd stubbed his toe or something. Feeling eyes on him, Gohan smiled down at Trunks. It wasn't one of Gohan's real smiles. "Alright, buddy. Let's do it again."

* * *

Trunks was seven when he realized he was different from the rest of his family and friends. Mr. Tien was the one who let it slip. Tien was arguing with Krillin in the mess hall. They were planetside and had been for weeks, which was unusual. Normally, they'd only stay a few days here or there before packing up and blasting off into space again. It had been that way for as long as Trunks could remember. _Home_ wasn't any one place. It was the people he was with. His mom told him that once. Sometimes she got kind of sappy over certain things and the idea of home was one of them.

If anything, home was the spaceship that smelled like engine grease and his grandmother's Trillian bread loaves. The green walkways and the blue-painted ceilings. The inner walls of the ship were covered in murals. Launch was a good artist and so was Puar and even Master Roshi had proved decently handy with a paintbrush. Pretty much everyone had added something to the murals over the years. Whenever Trunks asked, most people were more than happy to point at the pictures and tell him about Earth, the place they all came from.

The ship's name was _Shenron._ Aunt Chichi told him it was named after an old friend. His mom told him it was a beacon to anyone from Earth who may have escaped its destruction and was out looking for fellow survivors.

This wasn't the original ship they left Earth in. Trunks was too little to remember the first spaceship which had eventually been replaced by the much-improved _Shenron._ All he'd heard was that the _Shenron_ was much bigger and more space worthy than the old ship. It's hard to imagine, but before they left Earth, his mom and the others had only been to space once and didn't know much about it. Trunks thought that sounded way boring. He'd been to dozens and dozens of planets and space stations already and he was only seven.

The mess hall was a building that could be encapsulated and taken with them when they traveled. Planetside, it was where they ate their meals and lounged around.

Trunks was eating with Gohan. They usually ate together. Easier for Trunks' grandma or Aunt Chichi to cook one massive meal for the two boys rather than doing it separately.

Tien and Krillin were chatting on the far side of the mess hall. Their voices were slowly rising. People argued a lot around here, and about really stupid stuff, too. Trunks didn't pay much attention to arguments. Wasn't worth the brain power. Just this morning, his mom screamed for almost ten minutes straight at Oolong for some silly thing having to do with laundry. Stupid.

"...inviting disaster." Tien was saying. "I know you heard the report, too. Someday, this is all gonna blow up in our faces and three guesses on who's gonna be on the other side of the ki blast."

Krillin shushed him. "We don't know what's going on. No one does. We can't believe every rumor that flies around-"

"Not hard to believe, though, is it?"

"If I were you, I'd keep your voice down," Krillin warned. "Bulma doesn't stand for that kind of talk and you know it."

"Right. But she's not exactly unbiased, is she?"

Trunks slowed the pace he was shoveling food into his mouth until he was sitting still, cheeks bulging, listening unabashedly. Gohan's eyes were unfocused as he chewed and that's how Trunks knew his mentor was eavesdropping too.

"Goddamn Saiyans. If I hadn't seen proof otherwise with Goku and Gohan, I'd say they were all a pack of mangy bloodthirsty-" Tien broke off when Krillin kicked him. The two men glanced over at the table Gohan and Trunks were sitting at.

Tien pressed his lips together in a thin line, then strode out of the hall. Krillin shrugged apologetically to Gohan then followed the triclops out.

Gohan's hands were clenched into fists. He set down a mangled spoon gently on his tray of unfinished food.

Trunks swallowed the rest of his spicy jamboli. "Gohan, what's a Saiyan?"

Gohan wouldn't meet his eyes. "A member of a warrior race."

"...how come Tien was talking about you and your dad?"

Gohan absently straightened his tray and plate and napkin and glass in that obsessive compulsive way Aunt Chichi also organized things. "My dad was a Saiyan. I'm half-Saiyan." Gohan paused. "You're half-Saiyan, too."

Trunks was honestly surprised. "I am?" He'd always thought he was just a human who was tough, like Krillin or Master Roshi. He thought Gohan was the same.

So... _he and Gohan_ were the same. But they weren't like the others. Not a huge deal. Mr. Piccolo was Namekian. Puar and Oolong weren't exactly human. He wasn't sure what Tien was. Being half-human wasn't a problem for Trunks. Being half somebody from a warrior race sounded kind of cool. And yet...

"Are Saiyans bad?" Tien made Saiyans sound like animals. Trunks wasn't an animal. He was a boy.

Gohan frowned. "No." He looked over at Trunks for the first time. "You are what you make yourself. Blood's got nothing to do with it."

That was a total cop out answer and Trunks pulled a face to let Gohan know he knew it. Gohan shook his head. "Gonna have to ask your mom the rest, Trunks. It's not my place to say."

* * *

Bulma put her tools on the floor and spun around on her butt to face down Trunks with singular attention. That's how Trunks knew his question was important.

"What brought this on?" his mom asked.

"Tien was talking about Saiyans and Gohan said we're both half-Saiyan." Trunks sat opposite his mother, elbows on his knees. "Is it bad to be Saiyan, Mom?"

His mom's spine stiffened and fire snapped in her eyes. She lifted her chin. "Oh, I suppose Tien said something like that, did he? Well let me tell you something, Trunks Briefs. Gohan's daddy was a Saiyan and he was the best person I've ever known. _A hero."_

Trunks had heard all about Gohan's hero dad before. He waited for more and wasn't disappointed.

"Not to mention, _your_ dad was a Saiyan too. He fought with us as an ally and he had a good heart."

Something tight loosened in Trunks' chest. "Where is he Mom? Did he die on Earth, too?" No one had ever really said. Trunks just knew that his dad was _gone._ He didn't feel like he was missing out on much, not the way Gohan obviously did with his dad. It just struck Trunks suddenly as curious that he'd never been told exactly what happened.

His mom was quiet for such a long time that the spot beneath his breastbone started to tighten again.

"He disappeared," she said at last. "I think if it was possible for him, he would be here with us now." Bulma stood suddenly and dusted her hands off. "Don't listen to Tien, Trunks. He's a bitter man and he had some bad experiences with other Saiyans in the past. Whether you're human or Saiyan or, or Trillian grub root! It wouldn't matter. You are _you_ and you happen to be good and kind and amazing." She smiled warmly down at him and Trunks felt his cheeks flush with pleasure at the pride in his mother's eyes.

* * *

Trunks was eleven when he really began to understand that his little family aboard the _Shenron_ were a bunch of fugitives. In retrospect, it made all sorts of sense. The constant moving around. The weird missions the older warriors left for days at a time to complete. The secretive shorthand communications. Trunks always knew that they were supposed to _keep a low profile_ wherever they went. He just never really got why until recently.

One day, a quadrant-wide signal boost overrode all main channels to broadcast the Galactic Army's message.

They were traveling at a good click towards Modenk, a little moon with an underrated tech market (at his mother's behest), when the broadcast system flickered to life on all the _Shenron's_ display screens.

A minor panic ensued when the stylized GA emblem blinked into sight.

"We've been hacked!" Oolong squealed and dove under the keyboard, out of sight. Trunks gaped as practically the entire ship's occupants suddenly crowded into the control room.

"Shit!" Yamcha said. "Did they finally find us?"

"They've got bigger problems than us," Piccolo said, scowling at the unchanged screen filled with the Northern Quadrant's light blue and yellow colors. The GA emblem never left the screen. "I doubt this message is just for us."

Bulma pushed her way to the front of the room. She tapped at the controls with a serious face. Leaning back, she called over her shoulder, "Everyone relax, this is a quadrant-wide broadcast. Any comm screen tapped into the main should be getting this right now."

" _Quadrant_ -wide?" Krillin yelped. "Has that ever happened before?"

Bulma shrugged. "Probably not since Frieza was killed."

This statement was met with silence. It wasn't terribly reassuring to hear, after all. Trunks had a bare idea of who Frieza had been. An old enemy defeated by Gohan's dad. An evil dictator; someone who'd been responsible for billions of deaths across the galaxies.

If _he_ was the last person to use the system, then what was this going to be about?

The static-filled screen blipped into a clear picture of a man with flame swept hair. The man's dark eyes burned with intensity through the monitor into the eyes of everyone in the room.

Trunks jumped a little when his mother gasped and all the other adults in the room jolted and fell into a ringing silence.

Tien cut a sharp look toward Trunks that made his skin crawl with discomfort.

On screen, the harsh looking man lifted his chin. The picture was actually a live video feed. Trunks clearly heard Krillin mutter, "Oh, fuck," in the quiet room.

Then the man spoke.

"Greetings, galaxies," the man began with a mocking twist to his mouth. "If you don't recognize me by now, you've obviously been living in some backwater shithole. I am Prince Vegeta of the Saiyans, and I'm here to announce a-let's call it a changeover in leadership. Today, I planted that two-faced sycophant, Cooler, into the ground and showered his corpse with the blood of those loyal to him." The man on screen paused, before saying wryly: "Go ahead. Cheer, celebrate. This is good news. No longer will your people live in pointless chaos. No longer will your worlds run wild, for now _I_ rule you all."

Trunks' mom released her death grip on the chair arm to press a hand over her mouth. He didn't have to see her face to know she was upset. Heart pounding, Trunks pushed his way closer to her. He was stopped by a strong hand to his shoulder.

"Let go," Trunks snapped, trying to wrench away. Piccolo won't look away from the broadcast and he won't let go either.

At the front of the room, Trunks' mother curled in on herself, shoulders sagging slightly in the command chair. This made her look so unusually fragile, Trunks' heart hurt to see it.

"...Frieza Force has been obsolete for years. As amusing as it's been watching your civilizations try to pull together in the aftermath, those lawless days are over. It's time for a true leader to step forward. Me." Prince Vegeta grins darkly. "To those who'd oppose me, know this. The Kold family feared my people. Rightly so. As of today, each one of those lizard bastards have died at the hands of a Saiyan. Frieza fell years ago. Those of you on the Eastern border," Prince Vegeta breaks into a laugh, "already know of King Kold's fate."

Even without hearing the specifics, Trunks felt a chill run down his spine. Questions crowded around the edges of his mind.

Prince of the Saiyans.

Saiyan, like he and Gohan were Saiyan?

"Bring on the opposition. I will gladly meet anyone in battle. But before you weaklings waste my time, there's something you all should know." Prince Vegeta's face sharpened into even harsher angles as he grinned again. "The legends are true. Witness."

And then the craziest thing happened. The man's dark hair and dark eyes burst into a transformative light, burning gold and teal. The landscape surrounding the prince shuddered and rippled outward from the sheer power of it. Even the screen crackled, like the mechanics of the video recording equipment were shorting out in response to the change.

For one awed moment, Trunks' mind blanked out concerns as he stared greedily at the light show. His blood thundered in excitement.

"Kami above. He actually did it," Master Roshi croaked.

Just like that, the questions roared back. Trunks swung wild looks around the room. His friends and family _knew_ this man. Why hadn't Trunks ever heard of him before? What was going on?

Prince Vegeta kept talking, bragging about his prowess for quite some time before informing the quadrant as a whole that each world would soon receive instructions concerning their place in the new empire, instructions which would need to be followed to the letter if that world didn't want to be completely annihilated.

The prince hadn't shown a flicker of goodwill throughout the whole surreal broadcast, but Trunks still found himself surprised by the end of the speech.

"If anyone out there right now is questioning my ability to end your world from afar, check my credentials and stay out of my way." Prince Vegeta raised a sardonic brow. "I was a destroyer of worlds when I was a mere child. Now that I'm legendary, keeping galaxies in line will be _effortless."_ The prince inclined his royal head. His whole being pulsed with golden flame. "It's alright to feel relieved. You should be. You're witnessing the rise of the most capable ruler this quadrant has ever seen. Count yourselves lucky."

The channel switched to a stream of important looking dignitaries all swearing allegiance to Prince Vegeta. Trunks recognized a few. There were many faces in the prince's loyal cadre that the _Shenron_ actively avoided. Because they were bad people. Trunks had never asked for more detail than that basic explanation before when their ship needed to make a quick getaway from worlds too close to these bad people. He was definitely ready to hear more now.

Before Trunks could ask any of the hundreds of questions balanced on his tongue, Piccolo pulled him swiftly out of the room. Behind the closing doors Trunks heard the control room explode with furious argument.

"Wait! Tell me what's going on!" he pleaded with the Namekian warrior.

Piccolo ignored him until he deposited Trunks into his bedroom. Glaring at the green man, Trunks readied himself to let loose his frustration, but Piccolo's face quickly dissuaded him. Trunks had never seen the Namekian look so...emotionally constipated, was the only way he could think of it.

"That's enough," Piccolo said. "You need to stay here while we plan our next move."

"Who _was_ that guy? I know I'm part-Saiyan. Gohan told me already. I deserve to know what that was about!"

Piccolo grimaced down at him. "Listen, kid. This is bad news. We've been fighting for something that failed today. You want to be treated like an adult? Give the rest of the crew space to deal with the fallout from that little speech. Do that, and I'll have your back when you start asking the tough questions."

Having Piccolo in his corner was a better deal than Trunks had hoped for. "Deal," he said quickly, before the Namekian could change his mind. Trunks made the older warrior shake on it too, because his mom always said that a deal wasn't sealed until two parties shook on it.

Right before Piccolo turned away, he studied Trunks with an unnameable look-almost like the pity with which people looked at Aunt ChiChi when she cried over Gohan's dad...but not quite that either.

If Piccolo thought he was going to scare Trunks off with a couple weird looks, he was dead wrong. Trunks could handle the truth.

* * *

 **AN:** I'm sure you see where this is going. You can thank my Star Wars rewatch for this little AU tale. This particular story will be continued in at least one more chapter. Thanks for reading.


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